Page 12 of Shadows of Justice

“Tall, mid-thirties, has an accent like he’s from South America—real thick. Dark hair and eyes. Good looking.”

She purses her lips in thought and a patron behind her bellows her name, catching her attention for a moment. “I’ll be right there!” she hollers back. “I don’t know, snowflake. Lots of guys that speak Spanish come in here. This is LA.”

“He comes in wearing a Yankees hat, probably keeps to himself. Low profile. He might not even order drinks, just talks to people and then leaves.”

Maxine sighs, her eyes narrowed in thought. The patron bellows her name again, and she turns and tells him to shut the fuck up. I draw my lips into my mouth to hide my smile. This girl doesn’t fuck around, and I've got to say, I’m glad. She’d get eaten alive with any less attitude in a joint like this.

“I guess there is one dude that comes in that’s like that. Haven’t seen him in a while though. He’s cute, only orders a root beer and pays in cash. Never known his name though.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Uhh . . . I don’t know. Maybe, last month?” Maxine says. The customer bellows her name again, and her lips thin. “Look lady, I gotta go. But I wouldn’t stick around here too late. Little thing like you will get herself disappeared in here after midnight, if you catch my drift.” My eyebrows raise and I smile tightly.

“Got it, don’t have to tell me twice. Thanks for the info, and the drinks.”

Maxine walks to the other end of the bar to serve her customers, and I head back to my booth. If it is Leo she’s talking about, last month isn’t too bad. I can work with that. I can come here on my nights off, maybe bring Tim or something as a cover to avoid suspicion.

I snort at the thought of Tim inside a place like this. He shaves every morning—even on the weekends—and buys his moisturizer at Kiehl’s for fifty bucks a tube. The man smells better than I do.

Then I remember I’m avoiding him. Oh yeah. I’ll need to come up with a reason to frequent this place, one that doesn’t make me look like the cop that I am or easy prey for the curious and unwashed. One way or another, it’s a lead, and that makes my heart race. I could be one step closer to finding Leo and bringing him down. Taking a dangerous criminal off the streets and making myself look good to get the chief of my back? I’ll take it.

I’m smirking at myself, quite satisfied with my plan, when a muscular frame in a gray T-shirt amidst the sea of other bodies catches my eye. I slurp my drink and try and see through the crowd without looking like I’m doing exactly what I’m doing. His back is to me, and he’s wearing a baseball cap, his medium-length hair curling around his neck and ears and sticking out from beneath it. He turns his head to the side and regards an older man, smiling as he greets him with a hand on the man's shoulder. A dimple softens his cheek and I bite my lip. He’s cute. Cuter than I remember. And—it’s him.

Warmth floods my chest, emanating down and settling in my lower stomach.

It must be the whiskey. Sheesh.

It’s just that I hadn’t seen him smile yet, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look good on him.

Leo turns towards the bar, resting his muscular, mocha-toned forearms on the wood and greeting the bartender with a polite smile. The Yankees logo on his cap is visible through the haze, and I can also see the worming, threaded scars that pepper his skin. His hands have it the worst, but some of them wind their way to his elbows. They look like burns, if I had to guess. I suppress a shiver.

This man is dangerous, and clearly handles volatile chemicals regularly, and who knows what else.

I chastise my own vagina. Whiskey makes her tone deaf.

I watch as the bartender brings him his requested drink, something dark and fizzing in a tall, plastic cup. I huff a laugh. Root beer, probably, after what she said. How odd.

I avert my eyes and stare out the dirty window, nothing really visible through the water stains and grime. I don’t want him to catch me looking at him, and hopefully I’m far enough away to fade into the background with all this low lighting and crowded floorspace. I fuck around on my phone for a minute, closing apps and scrolling without really seeing anything, and then chance a look up.

Leo is gone.

What the hell? Where’d he go?

I hop up and make for the door, squeezing by the writhing crowd that stinks of fireball and swisher sweets. I have to pee like crazy, unwilling to chance the bathroom in this establishment, but that’ll have to wait. I hope he didn’t see me and get spooked. Surely, he wouldn’t have recognized me.

I leave Hooligan’s and take a deep breath, grateful for the fresh air in my lungs. I look to the left and see nothing down the dark alleyway except a working girl sucking a guy off in the shadows. To the right I catch a glimpse of a gray T-shirt disappear around the corner and start off after him.

I give him plenty of room, letting him cross a full block before I continue on around the side of the building. It’s almost ten o’clock now, and the characters around are getting more and more shady. I’ve got my mace, my fists, and my Benchmade in my bra, so I’m not too worried. I’m more worried about drawing Leo’s attention.

If I can follow him just long enough to snag an address or maybe a license plate if he gets into a car, I’ll have enough for tonight. The problem is, he doesn’t seem to be in a huge hurry. He’s meandering at an annoyingly slow pace. He stops at a convenience store for a bit and I wait for him across the street in a phone booth. Then, he grabs a slice at Tony’s on Fortling Avenue, eating as he walks. He’s taking his damned time and it’s irking me, my bladder threatening to burst.

It’s almost midnight when he stops at another bar, Charlie’s on 6th, not that far from my place now. It’s an open air joint, and I can see him clear as day when he strides up to the bar. I cross the street and dart into a 24-hour Rite-Aid, convinced this might be the first time I piss my pants as an adult. I should have the three to five minutes I need to get in and get out.

I relieve myself and hurry back out onto the street to get him back in my sights, but the bar is practically empty, save for a couple making out in the far corner.

No. No-no-no-no.

I cross the street and enter the bar, giving the door guy my ID while peering around at the empty space. He’s gone. Shit.

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